阅读选择：阅读下面短文，请从短文后所给各题的四个选项(A、B、C、D)中选出一个最佳选项。
     It happened again the other night. We’re watching the weather report on television. A generic-looking (相貌平平) man in a generic-looking suit slides back and forth before a map of the region, telling us we have nothing to worry about. Only a slight chance of an isolated thunderstorm after midnight. It’s 6:30 p.m. He smiles, tells us to have a great evening and fades away to sports. Less than an hour later, it’s pouring. And I mean pouring. Sheets-of-rain-down-the-windowpanes pouring. It remains one of life’s little mysteries to me how such well-intentioned and well-trained people using such high-tech equipment can be so wrong, and so often.
     I’ve often said that if I made that many mistakes in front of so many people, I’d have been out of job 35 years ago. I grew up on the windswept (受大风侵袭的) plains of western New York State. When the man on the Buffalo station said it was going to snow, it snowed. It never failed.
     This was October, usually around Halloween (万圣节). He then predicted snow for the next six months, and he was never wrong. November. December. January. February. March. April. Snow. Even as a kid, I figured out this wasn’t rocket science. But at least he was always accurate. He had no equipment, no red or blue or green spots floating across his map. In fact, I’ll not sure I remember a map. In those days, we all knew where we were. No map was required. He got most of his forecast tips, I suspect, from his bones and how they felt.
     I have my simple theories why weather reporting is so inaccurate. Weather reporters rarely go outside. Nor can they see outside. Most of them work in windowless buildings.